The fruit tree heard that the Bhagavad Gita recommends surrendering the fruits of action to God and so he gently dropped his pears into Mother Earth’s lap.
Because he did so, pear seeds made the world much more pear-treed.
from Bhagavad Gita: Chapter 5
An Italian proverb states, “in bocca chiusa non cade pera,” – a pear will never fall into a closed mouth. But, to me, there is something about the shape, color, and texture of a pear that makes it almost too beautiful to eat!
Tyger Tyger, burning bright, In the forests of the night; What immortal hand or eye, Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
In what distant deeps or skies. Burnt the fire of thine eyes? On what wings dare he aspire? What the hand, dare seize the fire?
And what shoulder, & what art, Could twist the sinews of thy heart? And when thy heart began to beat. What dread hand? & what dread feet?
What the hammer? what the chain, In what furnace was thy brain? What the anvil? what dread grasp. Dare its deadly terrors clasp?
When the stars threw down their spears And water’d heaven with their tears: Did he smile his work to see? Did he who made the Lamb make thee?
Tyger Tyger burning bright, In the forests of the night: What immortal hand or eye, Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?
I love to listen to audiobooks while I needlepoint or paint with watercolors. This week’s book by John Lithgow, The Poet’s Corner: The One-and-Only Poetry Book for the Whole Family, gave me six and a half hours of pure bliss! The author included recitations, biographical information, and analyses of over forty poets’ content, style, and language. William Blake’s “The Tyger” poem was included in the list and inspired my blogpost.
P.S. I continued thinking about tigers and wild cats in general these last few days and when I came across Rudyard Kipling’s book, Just So Stories, I couldn’t resist rereading a story from my childhood, “How the Leopard Got His Spots.” You might enjoy it, too!
As a friend to the children commend me the Yak. You will find it exactly the thing: It will carry and fetch, you can ride on its back, Or lead it about with a string.
The Tartar who dwells on the plains of Tibet (A desolate region of snow) Has for centuries made it a nursery pet, And surely the Tartar should know!
Then tell your papa where the Yak can be got, And if he is awfully rich He will buy you the creature—of else he will not. (I cannot be positive which.)
After Church when I was a child, my father would often take me and my siblings to visit the outdoor zoo in a park near where he grew up. The yaks‘ enclosure was a curiosity – I could never understand the game they played wherein the bigger yak climbed on top of the smaller one, and the smaller one never got a turn to do the same.
In fields of gold where daffodils dance, Their beauty shines in a fleeting glance. But beneath the soil, where roots entwine, Lurks a truth that’s less than divine.
For hidden from view, in the earth’s embrace, Lie roots that tell of a different fate. Though petals gleam in the sun’s warm light. The roots betray a darker sight.
So too, do some, in the world’s gaze, Appear as beauty in myriad ways. But beneath the surface, unseen to most, Lies a truth that’s harder to boast.
This morning, I noticed that the squirrels had uprooted my daffodil plants. As I gently pressed them back into the soil, I was struck by the contrast between the lovely, sunny blooms on top and the fine, twisted roots emerging from the bulb at the bottom.
I thought about how some people, too, present themselves as the picture of perfect beauty and loveliness but deep inside may lie a darker story – be it of heartache, grief, illness, or even a darkness of the soul.
In a tapestry of threads once left astray, Lies the beauty of a wreath in shades arrayed. With remnants of wool, a canvas they adorn, A masterpiece born from what others scorned.
Each stitch a story of resilience and grace, From discarded strands, a new life takes place. In every cross and turn, a tale is spun, Of transformation from what was undone.
What once lay idle, now blooms with delight, A wreath of colors, a symphony of light. So, the joy of creating from what’s been cast away, Turning leftovers into art, day by day.
I wanted to stitch a needlepoint project using leftover tapestry wool from past efforts. This wreath was worked using a combination of Appleton, Paternayan (two strands only), and Elizabeth Bradley yarns. I did not have all the color matches for the pattern so I had to create my own colorway. I plan to sew it into a pillow with rose velvet ribbon piping and a black velvet backing.
I really like creating something beautiful from scraps, be it a needlepoint canvas or a quilt. These end up being my favorite pieces!
In Reykjavik’s streets, where legends roam, Anita, like a star, found her home. With fur of black and white, a beauty rare, A brown circle ’round her eye, beyond compare.
Energetic and alert, she caught my eye, A playful spirit, reaching for the sky. In her gaze, a spark, like twinkling stars, I wished to take her home, to be mine.
Though now a pet, her spirit’s still free, Anita, the Icelandic dog, with glee. With every wag of her tail, a tale unfurled, In my heart, she’ll forever be cherished, this world.
I admired this Icelandic Sheepdog in Reykjavik’s city center. Her name is Anita, after the Icelandic actress, Anita Briem. Oddly, she was only one of two pet dogs I saw in Iceland during my eight-day stay there. This breed dates back to the 800s when humans first came to Iceland. Anita seemed very eager and lively – I am sure she would have been a good sheep herder.
In Easter’s light, redemption’s tale is told, Through Christ’s sacrifice, salvation unfolds. He bore the weight of sin upon the cross, To free us from despair and endless loss.
In agony, he bore pain and strife, That we may find the path to eternal life. His wounds, a testament to love’s pure grace, An offering of mercy in that sacred place.
With each nail driven, each thorn pressed deep, He paved the way for us to rise and reap, The blessings of forgiveness, freely given, He triumphed over death, all sins forgiven,
So let us gather, hearts lifted high, In gratitude for the gift of Christ’s reply. Easter’s dawn brings hope and renewal bright, As we walk in the glow of redemptive light.
Wishing you all a very Happy Easter! 💛 xo
My favorite Easter hymn below, “Christ the Lord is Risen Today.” Alleluia!
All big things come from small beginnings. The seed of every habit is a single, tiny decision. But as that decision is repeated, a habit sprouts and grows stronger. Roots entrench themselves and branches grow. The task of breaking a bad habit is like uprooting a powerful oak within us. And the task of building a good habit is like cultivating a delicate flower one day at a time. by James Clear, Atomic Habits
I am happy to report that I have finally finished my last needlepoint project. It took me an entire year to stitch twelve canvases (and that included sewing them into pillows). I had intended to try another self-imposed creative challenge in another medium such as painting versus textiles, but the habit of picking up a needlepoint canvas is so ingrained in me, that I cannot and now do not want to give it up! Thank you, James Clear, for starting me on this creative challenge journey.
Six months of needlepointing, each day a steady hand, With Victorian cross stitches, my large opus planned. Thousands of small stitches, so meticulously placed, And twenty hues of tapestry wool carefully spaced.
On this canvas, my heart is stitched in every row, A gift to my daughter, a treasure on her bestowed. I hope she will hold it close and feel the love it bears, My offering of this hedgerow to cherish and to share.
This needlepoint pillow was planned as a gift for my daughter. So glad to have completed it! 🧡
In stitches and threads, a year’s toil unfurled, Ten needlepoint pillows, each a gem in the world. With wool and with velvet, with silk piping so fine, Crafted with love, each design to enshrine.
Alphabet treasures that children adore, Alligators, elephants – snakes galore! Gentle giraffes and bears wearing red bows, Falcons, hedgehogs, and ducks with no toes.
As gifts were given, joy filled the air, Tears of delight, expressions so rare. But scarcely had they nestled in hand, The chorus erupted, a unanimous demand.
“We want more!” they cried, their voices a cheer, For the beautiful stitching, oh so dear! So back to the needles, with passion and grace, More pillows to make for their hearts’ embrace.
I have two large needlepoint canvases almost finished, and had planned to take a break from needlepoint to concentrate on my animal and bird watercolor paintings. But now, we shall see!
Satin & Sand 